


Jo Harvelle: Hunter, Bartender Extraordinaire

by jenesaisquoi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Harvelle's Roadhouse, and a smattering of hunter oc's for effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenesaisquoi/pseuds/jenesaisquoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The early story of the Winchester brothers as told by Jo and the hunter patrons of the Roadhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jo Harvelle: Hunter, Bartender Extraordinaire

**Author's Note:**

> I had written this a while ago and then left it, finding it only recently and liking it quite a bit. I think I had originally planned to have a bit more of a plot (which I don't remember), but it was always going to end with Jo's death... obviously. 
> 
> I have played around with the timelines a bit because it fits better but also because I think at the time of writing, I hadn't remembered that the Roadhouse gets destroyed in the second season.
> 
> I hope you enjoy =]

A conversation in a dark, deserted bar on the back roads of a tiny town. This is where hunters make their home.

“Have you heard of this new hunter going around?” asks one of the other.

“John Winchester? Yeah, I heard o’ him,” replies the old man.

“He any good?”

“He’s learnin’.”

“Got two boys don’t he?”

“Yeah, two youngins. Shame ‘bout the mother.”

“Them’s the breaks, I s’pose.”

“Them’s the breaks.”

They finish their drinks in silence.

***

Jo loves it when patrons of the Roadhouse talk hunter-stuff, could listen to the old tales all day, but the new ones are her favourite, the ones in the making.

“Heard of that new hunter team? Took out a Wendigo up in Colorado, I hear,” Allan Ryland begins, sitting at the bar. 

“They’re John Winchester’s boys,” replies Rich Jeffords. The old coot ordering a beer.

“That so? ‘Bout time they got into the business. Are they any good?”

“Can’t be bad if John Winchester taught ‘em somethin’ worth teachin’.”

Stories about new hunters are what Jo waits for, wondering if one day she’ll have tales told of her. For now, Ellen Harvelle’s daughter wonders if she’ll meet the Winchester boys one day. 

***

“Have you seen John around lately?” Jo hears Nelson Mehan ask her mother.

“Last I heard he was back in Lawrence,” she replies.

“Lawrence eh? That’s where it happened, ain’t it?”  
“That’s where it happened.”

Jo’s always wanted to know the details of what happened to John Winchester. Something bad, something…that changed his life was all hunters ever said.

“Ain’t the Winchester boys in Lawrence also?” Max Mckillop asks, coming over to the bar.

“Don’t know about that. Last I heard Dean Winchester was killed in St Louis,” Nelson replies.

The next time Jo hears about Dean Winchester, he’s dying of heart problems in Nebraska. She begins to wonder if these boys will live long enough for her to meet them.

***

“Heard there are demons after the Winchesters,” Max Mckillip starts.

“Demons are after all of us,” Rich Jeffords says.

“Must be special to have demons on the hunt for you,” Gordon Walker says.

Not for the first time does Jo question why hunters are so interested in the Winchesters; Gordon almost seems jealous. 

“Old Yellow Eyes has always had it out for that family,” Rich continues. 

“What’s so special ‘bout them anyway?” Gordon asks, voicing Jo’s thoughts.

“Hunter families always get more interest,” Max answers.

Rich nurses his beer. “Used to know a hunter family, the Campbells. Don’t know what happened to ‘em.”

Jo wonders if hunters remember her father; she’s never been brave enough to ask.

***

“Heard Dean Winchester’s dead again,” Rich Jeffers jokes to Nelson Mehan, in the deserted Roadhouse.

“That boy’s gonna get himself killed for real one day,” Nelson replies.

“They’re a tough family, they are,” Rich says into his beer, thoughtful.

“Where’s John anyhow? I heard he went after the Colt. Been trying to reach him for months now.”

“If you got information, leave it with Ellen. She might know how to reach him.”

***

“These boys are leavin’ quite the body count,” Allan Ryland says to Max McKillop.

“Quite the stir too,” Max answers, slight disapproval.

“They’ll learn,” answers Allan.

“Where’s Nelson? I haven’t seen him around lately,” Jo asks the hunters. She prides herself on knowing almost all the hunters that come through that Roadhouse and she knows the individuals that gravitate toward each other. Allan, Max, Nelson, and Rich, she likes to think, are her boys. She’s known them since she was born, and they’ve got her back. She likes to think she’s got theirs also.

Max looks into his drink. Allan replies “He went on a hunt in New Mexico, ‘bout a month ago. Haven’t head from him since.”

The next month she doesn’t hear anything about Max anymore. 

“That’s the life of a hunter,” Rich Jeffers says into his beer. Jo doesn’t think that anything could be more perfect. 

***

When two tall young men walk into the Roadhouse in the middle of the day, Jo’s far more excited than her mother. 

“Sam, Dean. Winchester?” asks her mother.

“Yeah,” they reply in the unison. 

“John Winchester’s boys. Nice to meet you,” her mother says with a smile. 

Looks like they lived long enough for Jo to meet them. 

“You’re not going to hit me again, are you?” One of them asks her. 

They soon leave on a hunt, Jo smiling all the while—she can say she’s punched Dean Winchester now.

***

“They left me tied up!” Gordon Walker is yelling when Jo comes back from getting supplies from the cellar. “And they let those Fangers go.”

The bar seems to be split between laughter, outrage, and bemusement.

“Vegetarian vamps,” Allan says. “Now I’ve heard everythin’.”

“It ain’t right, leavin’ a man tied up. ‘Specially not another hunter,” a man with a Texan drawl comments.

“They let those fuckers go,” Gordon stresses. “What hunter do you know that lets vamps go?”

“Maybe they had reason,” Rich pipes up.

“Ain’t nobody got enough reason for that,” another says.

Well, Jo thinks, this is exciting. Rarely do hunters gets so vocal about things. Surly old bastards they may be, but usually they prefer to stew in their own solitary misery than talk to many people. Jo loves times like this when she doesn’t have to pull teeth to get answers. 

“They’re no good hunters, let me tell ya,” Gordon says. “Especially not that Sam Winchester. Pretends to be better than us, but that boy’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous how? Ye said ye pulled a gun on him,” Rich continues to poke holes in Gordon’s outburst. 

“He defended a vamp, Rich,” Gordon seems about to explode. “Dean just went along with him!”

“Seems like not much those boys won’t do for the other,” Rich says. 

It’s the end of the commotion, and Jo finds herself wondering about the boy with the scarred forehead and easy smile.

***

“Hear about Milwaukee?” Allan Ryland asks Rich Jeffers. “FBI’s on the Winchesters’ trail.”

“Not for a while, they’ve lost ‘em now. Those boys are getting good at slippin’ away.”

“They’re not gonna be able to keep this up, Rich. Didn’t John teach those boys anything?”

“He taught ‘em how to survive. It’s not easy when a Shifter frames you for murder. The boys’ll be alright. Me n’ old Nelson used to have a sayin’. Them’s the breaks. And them’s the breaks you just gots to deal with.”

It’s been a while since the Winchester boys have stopped by the Roadhouse, been a while since they helped her with H.H. Holmes.

“Little lady, can ye tell yer mum that Decan’s called?”

“Sure thing, Rich.”

***

The day the Devil’s Gate is opened, Jo hides in the cellar and wonders how much of the Roadhouse will be left standing once the fire dies down.

“Enough to fix up,” says Rich Jeffers. 

Gordon Walker says, “The Roachhouse isn’t worth fixing,” and takes off.

Later, Jo will learn that he’d gone after the Winchesters. The next time she sees him, she makes sure to tell him and his group that the Winchesters saved her life, and are some of the best hunters around. That night they tie her up, threaten her, cut into her, tell her lies of the boys, until Rich Jeffers shows up with Allan Ryland and tells Gordon to never show his face near the Roadhouse again. 

Afterwards she’s more careful about what she says and to whom. As the name Winchester spreads, so does the divide in opinion on then.

Soon after she learns that Gordon Walker is dead, beheaded by the Winchesters. While others question and condemn, she knows they probably had good reason.

***

One day Jo’s hears the hunters talking about the death of Dean Winchester. Not many believe it.

“That’s what happens when you’ve got Sam Winchester for a brother and are mixed up with demons,” says a surly hunter. “I won’t shed a tear for the men who killed Gordon Walker.”

Jo doesn’t offer him a refill. 

***

In the early days of the Apocalypse, which she hadn’t known at the time, Jo sees new faces in the rebuilt Roadhouse. Most of the old one have left or died, only Rich Jeffers and Allan Ryland are left along with a couple of others. She’s not sure if there’s been some kind of increase in hunter recruitment, or if word of the Roadhouse has spread but it’s far busier than it’s ever been. Non-hunters even stop by frequently these days. The non-hunters are Jo’s favourite.

“Hello miss, I’d like a beer for myself and one for my friend here,” says a handsome man sitting at the bar.

“Sure thing. Where’re you boys from?” she asks.

“Upstate New York,” the handsome man’s friend answers. “I’m Jack, and this is Dave.”

“Upstate New York eh? I’ve only ever been to Point Hope on a huntin’ trip,” Jo continues, relishing.

“Now what’s a sweet little girl like you doing that for? Not hunting rabbits I hope,” Dave takes up the conversation.

“I’m a big girl who can take care of herself, mister,” she jokes, knowing she can charm these men. “Especially with all the things you hear about near Point Hope.”

“Yeah? What sort of things?” Dave asks, and Jo imagines the many ghosts of hunters that linger in the Roadhouse huff a laugh. 

“Things live in the woods around Point Hope, things that go bump in the night,” she explains, and the men from upstate New York raise their eyebrows skeptically.

“Aw don’t listen to Jo here,” Allan pipes in. “You know how these back road type places all have their fair share of ghost stories.”

“You just drink your whiskey, Allan. I knew some people who saw a Wendigo out in Colorado once,” Jo continues. 

“Now look here, boys. Jo’s the meanin’ o’ trouble and she’ll spin ye a tale that’ll get the hairs on your hackles raisin’,” Rich Jeffers joins in the conversation. 

“So you’re into ghost stories, huh?” Jack asks.

“You hear things workin’ in a bar people pass through all the time.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Jack’s looking intrigued now. Definitely from the suburbs, Jo thinks.

“I knew a man who saw Jonah Greely, on highway 41 in Nevada. They says every year on the anniversary of his death, he haunts the road punishing travelers for his ill-timed death.”

“And your friend saw him?” Dave asks skeptically.

“Yup, all bloodied and cut-up. ‘Like he’d had a run-in with a lawnmower,’ the guy said.”

Jack squints his eyes, tilting his head and smiling. “You’re playing us aren’t you?” he says.

“Course I am, silly!” Jo answers. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. Now drink up, there’s more where that came from.”

***

“Samhain walks the earth and the fucking Winchesters are responsible for it!” A bearded hunter—and when aren’t they?—announces as he struts into the Roadhouse. 

A couple of hunters curse under their breath, while the regular patrons look on in amusement. 

“Are you sure you need anymore alcohol?” Jo’s mother asks, going around the bar.

“Do I look like I don’t, lady?”

“When someone walks into my bar shoutin’ ‘bout some Samhain and rifles, that someone’s had enough,” her mother replies with a pointed look at the non-hunter patrons of the Roadhouse. 

“I’ll be taking my leave then,” the hunter says and walks out the door.

Jo quickly sidles over to where Rich Jeffers and some other hunters are sitting at the bar.

“Who’s Samhain?” she whispers to them.

“No one good, I’m sure,” answers Kurt Nevin. 

“Some of the lore says that his raising is one of the 66 Seals,” continues Brenda Waits, Kurt’s wife. “But that’s tied to the apocalypse.”

With the Winchesters’ luck, Jo wouldn’t be surprised if they were dealing with the apocalypse. 

***

Word of the Winchesters continues to spread like wildfire. Hellfire is probably the most appropriate comparison in this case, Jo thinks. 

“I met these hunters,” says a young one. “They drive around in an old black car. Practically married to the damn thing.”

“The ’67 Impala?” Jo asks

“Yeah, they any good?”

“The Winchesters are the best,” she replies with a smugness.

“They’re the Winchesters? Oh boy, not what I was expecting,” the hunter says before leaving.

Jo’s doesn’t know what to make of that. 

***

Jo’s not sure when the conversation about the Winchesters changes, but it does change. There’s almost a clear path from new hunters on the scene to these guys are actually pretty good. Now the Winchesters are passing into living legend.

“I was in Washington, hunting these vamps,” begins a hunter with a face Jo doesn’t recognize. “Do you know what they said to me? We only fear one of your kind and you’re not the Winchesters. Before I cut off his head.”

“Can you imagine having monsters afraid of you?” asks another.

“Can you imagine the things you have to do to get monsters to be afraid of you?” says the first. 

There was the distinct feeling that people were beginning to fear the boys. Jo always knew the Winchesters were badass, but she’d never thought they were something to be afraid of. Though with the amount of times Dean was rumored dead only to come back to life, she figured that at some point people would start to take notice. 

Of course, there lingered the question of what people would think if they knew how many times Sam and Dean had died. Not to mention the lengths they would go to bring each other back. 

Jo stayed silent.

***

“You know that Winchester kid, Dean?” began a young hunter, partnered with his mother. “I heard he went to Hell.”

“Yeah?” replied an old grizzled hunter, who had recently begun frequenting the Roadhouse. “How’s he back then?”

“I heard an angel pulled him out,” another said, with awe in his voice.

“‘Cause there’s such a thing as angels. God’s not here anymore and neither are his angels,” replied the old hunter. “They sure as hell wouldn’t help the Winchesters. You stay away from those boys ya hear? They got demon blood in them.”

Jo adds water to his next double of vodka and wonders when Rich and Allan will get back. 

***

Jo watched silently as the legend of Sam and Dean Winchester grows with every passing exploit and embellished story.

“I heard they started the apocalypse,” said one hunter. These days it wasn’t even necessary to explain who they were.

“What bullshit are you spoutin’?” a hillbilly hunter from Mississippi asks.

“Haven’t you seen the signs, the omens? It’s fucking biblical out there, locusts, plagues, end of days shit,” replies the first one. “It’s all about the Winchesters, man.”

“They’re bad news,” chimes in another.

“Ye can all shut yer mouths,” grumbles good ol’ Rich Jeffers. “They’re damn fine hunters and ye’d best be hopin’ they have yer back.”

“That don’t mean you get a free pass for startin’ the Apocalypse,” yet another faceless hunter. “When I see ‘em the first thing I’m gonna do is put a bullet in Sam Winchester’s head—for good, this time.” This is when Jo realizes that this man was once an acquaintance of Gordon Walker.

“Do you still have that nonsense goin’ on, Jack?” Allan Ryland asks of Jack Hartfield. 

“It ain’t natural, lettin’ a demon boy run around.”

“Yeah well, regardless of reason,” Marsha Hoyle says, “make sure to kill ‘em both or you’ll be dead within the week.”

A month later, Jo hears that the Winchesters have been killed, shot in the chest by Roy and Walt, from a reliable source. She doesn’t think too much about it. They’ll probably be back, they always are. 

***

When Sam and Dean next step into the Roadhouse it’s a night when there’s only a couple of strange faces in late. Rich Jeffers and Allan Ryland are nursing their whiskeys.

“Ah heard you boys were dead,” Rich says.

“It’ll take a lot more than shotguns to kill us,” boasts Dean. Sam ignores him and sits beside Allan.

“Tell me about it! You two idjits are goin’ to get me killed,” Bobby Singer jokes, walking out of the kitchen. 

“Shame when hunters turn on their own,” Allan Ryland laments. Sam stays suspiciously silent.

“It ain’t your fault, you know,” Jo says quietly, handing Sam a pint of beer. 

“Thanks Jo,” Sam replies in his solemn way. 

***

After the boys come back from death, that’s when the rumours of the Winchesters begin again. Jo relishes it all—she knows the truth. 

Conversations about the Winchesters now start with “Watch out for the Winchesters.” She suspects it’s the same for monsters too.

“Is Dean Winchester still on the FBI’s most wanted?”

“Probably. He did torture and kill a girl.”

“Nah, I heard that was a Shifter.”

“How many other people do you think Dean Winchester has tortured and killed?”

“How many hunters do you think those boys have killed?”

“None of you know what ya’ll are talkin’ ‘bout,” Allan Ryland finally intercedes. “It was one hunter. Gordon Walker. And the idiot had gone and gotten himself bit by a fanger.”

“They probably got the vamp to turn him for them. Those boys are dark side.”

“Ye hunters’ll believe anythin’,” mutters Rich Jeffers.

“Sam Winchester’s a demon child,” Jack Hartfield, still around joins the conversation. “You can defend them all you want, but the blood that beats through that boy’s veins is black.”

***

A conversation in a dark, mostly deserted bard on the back roads of a small town. This isn’t where hunters made their home. A bartender overhears a quiet conversation between two old men. He thinks they’ve either had too much to drink or are senile. 

“We lost too many of ‘em.”

“Too many. All really.”

“We miss ye all,” one says raising his glass. “And the Roadhouse.”

“To Ellen and Jo,” the other also raises his glass. 

“I guess ‘em Winchesters won. Seein’ how we’re still here and all.”

“Got a lot of people killed though. A lot of collateral.”

“That’s what you get when you get in too deep with ‘em demons. Them boys only ever cared about themselves and ol’ Yeller Eyes.”

“I won’t never forgive them.”

“No, not me neither.”

“Still…”

“They’re good boys still. I’d help ‘em if they ever needed it.”

“Yeah. An’ they did save our lives couple of times.” 

“That they did.”

“Thanks fer the libation, tender,” the older one said to him. 

“You stay away from that old house on 55, you here?” the other one says to him. “No good can come of a house that old.”

The two men walk out of the bar, leaving the bartender with the distinct impression that he hasn’t understood anything about the world at all. He hates it when the crusty old vagabonds who pass through the bar do that. They leave with their vaguely threatening manner but don’t take the unease with them. He turns back to an aging farmer complaining about his crops.


End file.
